


Bang Bang All Over You

by hati_skoll



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Established Relationship, M/M, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 12:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13294680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hati_skoll/pseuds/hati_skoll
Summary: Iwaizumi sidled over to peer at Hanamaki's phone. "Damn it, Oikawa, why is there a photo of me showering in here?""It's art.""I'm naked!""Best kind of art," Oikawa yelped when Iwaizumi took a threatening step towards him, "Look, you're tastefully censored!""Yeah, the peach sticker really complements your butt, Iwaizumi," Hanamaki added, well on his way to hysterical laughter.(In which, HRM Oikawa Tooru runs an Instagram fanpage for his Director of Security Iwaizumi Hajime. They have hoards of fangirls. And things explode. Iwaizumi is one hundred percent done. But okay, fine, he loves the idiot.)





	Bang Bang All Over You

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, I've been fairly out of touch with this fandom. Written for a friend because of a Facebook bandwagon post. Her requests were rarepair MatsuOi and IwaHana (as long as it's the seijoh boys it's fine), no palace au, no fantasy au.
> 
> Clearly, I tap danced around some of those requirements, but I hope you like this.
> 
> Also, no suffixes because they're not in Japan. And I generally feel odd using suffixes when I'm writing in English.

'ROYAL CONSORT FLEES CITY AFTER EXPLOSIVE NIGHT' stood out in stark bold, san-serif, filling up more than half of Seijo Time's front pages. It was five hours after the bomb had been neutralised in the Consort's private suite; three and a half hours after a rather resourceful journalist broke the story on Twitter (of all platforms); and two hours after the PR team pulled together a proper press statement from the royal house of Oikawa.

Not that it did much to curb the finger-pointing, which soon escalated into a debate on the inefficiency of security measures, subsequently alluding to the inefficacy of the government as a whole, which was then followed by a heated conversation on the functional purpose of the Crown or lack thereof, which then further devolved into a social media bloodbath between anarchists and monarchists, spotted with creative insults, expletives and a brilliant amount of ad hominem. And it all happened in the span of fifteen minutes.

"I hate Facebook," Iwaizumi Hajime – HRM Oikawa Tooru's Director of Security, personal bodyguard and childhood playmate – grunted, while glaring balefully at the tasteful cream-coloured wallpaper furnishing the White Room. "And Twitter."

Agent Hanamaki Takahiro patted him on the arm sympathetically, handing him a cup of black coffee as they did a customary sweep of Oikawa's third parlour. Security was dialled up to eight, assuming they were on a seven point scale. Iwaizumi's eyes scanned past the antique marble mantelpiece which had been salvaged from the Old Palace and the set of mismatched settee – two of which were wedding gifts, Oikawa's and his dad's to their respective royal spouses. The last was a holdover from their dorm-sharing college days. It was a humble, worn thing that stuck out like a sore thumb amidst all the plush posh-ness.

Hanamaki grinned around a sip of his own vanilla latte. "What about Instagram?"

"Yeah, I hate that too." Iwaizumi groaned, nursing his sleep-deprived brain cells with a heavy dose of caffeine, and wincing when the double doors practically flew open in the next second.

"You can't hate Instagram!" HRM Oikawa Tooru protested, flouncing into the room with all the aplomb his crown dictated. "You've a huge following on it."

Iwaizumi was about to berate the idiot for entering without waiting for the all-clear, but then he stopped short. "I– What? I can't have a huge following on Instagram. I don't have an account."

"Of course you do. I run your official fan page for you," Oikawa announced, opening it up on his phone, "Two point eight million followers and counting, as of this moment."

"You mean to tell me," Iwaizumi squinted at the screen, not quite sure if he was shell-shocked or horrified, "That our taxes are going to this… @DirectorIwa- Why is this photo captioned with hashtag eggplant?"

"That’s symbolic."

"For… what? Veganism?"

"No, it's a purple dick, silly. And I put it in the hashtags because you look like one of those imperial-guard-uniformed strippers."

"In case you forgot, I'm your actual imperial guard.”

Oikawa imperiously waved the comment away, snatching his phone back with a beleaguered huff, and stalking over to their- _his_ couch. "I can’t believe you’re objecting to your online popularity."

"I’m objecting to the frivolous waste of our country’s expenses,” Iwaizumi shouted, stalking after the asshole and nearly spilling his drink when he set the cup down smack on the glass coffee table – because fuck the coasters. "The State’s not feeding you to run… raunchy Instagram accounts!"

"Raunchy," Oikawa repeated, pout dissolving into a horrible shit-eating grin.

"Yes, raunchy. Debauched! Indecent!"

"You’re so eighteenth century. I bet your fangirls would be positively swooning if they knew," Oikawa pretended to fan himself with his hands, before theatrically keeling over onto the beat-up loveseat. Iwaizumi secretly thought it unfair that the jerk looked perfectly graceful while acting like an idiot.

"Hashtag classy," Hanamaki quipped, kicking back on the opposite chair – Wedding Present II AKA the Too-Soft Teal Sofa – while scrolling through @DirectorIwa’s latest posts. "Damn, Director, you’re packing."

"I’m- You're following the account!" Iwaizumi sidled over to peer at Hanamaki's phone. "Damn it, Oikawa, why is there a photo of me showering in here?"

"It's art."

"I'm naked!"

"Best kind of art," Oikawa yelped when Iwaizumi took a threatening step towards him, "Look, you're tastefully censored!"

"Yeah, the peach sticker really complements your butt, Iwaizumi," Hanamaki added, well on his way to hysterical laughter.

Iwaizumi glanced at the photo again and felt something inside him shrivel up and die. "That's it. You're taking everything down."

"You can't tell me what to do," Oikawa hugged his phone protectively to his chest. "I'm the king!"

"And I'm your Director of Security, so you've to listen to me when your safety is imminently threatened."

Oikawa blinked. "How is your Instagram account threatening me in any-"

"It's compelling me to commit regicide."

It was three minutes later when Deputy Director Matsukawa Issei walked into the room, only to find Oikawa and Iwaizumi running circles round the sitting area, while Hanamaki sat perched on the couch's backrest, recording it all on Snapchat. He heaved a thoroughly long sigh, before slowly ambling forwards to join the trio – although he didn't manage five steps before Oikawa came barrelling into him, violently clingy and hopelessly loud as he wailed, "Save me, Mattsun. Iwa's gone mad."

"Me? Mad?" Iwaizumi rampaged, and Matsukawa had to admit his Director did look a little… out of sorts, "You're the one posting pictures of me – naked! – on Instagram!"

Right. Matsukawa groaned. So Oikawa's little pet project was finally out of the bag. He never quite understood how the King kept it under wraps for as long as he did, never quite understood how the King obtained some of those shots either. Matsukawa's favourite was the one with Iwaizumi sitting on the bed in profile, haloed by the morning light, hair tousled and body bare, safe for the pile of sheets riding low on his hips. It was… sweet, and showed a side of Iwaizumi they hadn’t seen in a while – not with the constant invasion of telephoto lenses and random extremist attacks.

"I just got the report off Minister Mizoguchi," Matsukawa pointedly interjected, quelling their squabble. "Are you debriefing us, Director?"

 Iwaizumi paused, seeming to remember himself. He shot Oikawa a glare that basically said, 'this isn't over', before nodding at his deputy. "Yeah, I've been stuck in his office for hours, going over this."

"I glanced at it on the way. It's… interesting."

Iwaizumi shrugged, sighing as he seated himself beside Hanamaki – who immediately plopped down from his perch on the backrest. "Mizoguchi talked to the PR team and they're running out of ideas. I mean, they've been going without sleep ever since the death threats. And yesterday night was. An exercise in caution. We're all hoping it'll blow over soon, but. Well, you know."

"We got the perp, at least."

"He's small fry," Iwaizumi shook his head, frown lines settling in well-worn above his brows – they seemed to be permanently there these days, "We've bigger fish to catch."

"Well, at least he's locked up," Oikawa sat opposite Iwaizumi and poured himself a cup of tea, sombre for a rare moment, "A lot of people could have died, if our dear consort hadn't noticed the wiring."

"How is he?" Hanamaki asked. He'd been posted off-site the night before, and missed the royal consort by a couple of minutes when he'd reported in.

"Same as always, doesn't seem like he'll be fazed by anything," Iwaizumi made a face, "I think he's holding it together better than the lot of us. He would've stayed despite the target on his back, if we hadn't insisted that laying low will be easier on his staff."

"Don't be an idiot, Iwa. He was scared stiff, like any average human being would be when someone tries to kill them," Oikawa blew on his tea, before taking a sip. "He's just good at hiding it. And he'd only agreed because we're sending him back to the Crow Isles to weather the storm."

Hanamaki gaped. "Wait, you sent him out of the country? I thought he's at Irihata Manor."

"That's what we'd let the press think," Iwaizumi grimaced, "Like we're stupid enough to have him be a sitting duck– uh, crow, with all that's been happening. But it'll look bad if we tell them he's flying home, they'd probably print 'ROYAL CONSORT THINKS IMPERIAL GUARD ARE SCHMUCKS' or some crap like that."

"They would," Matsukawa agreed with a wry grin. "And they'd slap a photo of you and the consort arguing right underneath that headline."

Iwaizumi gave a despairing groan, while opening the report up on his phone. "I can imagine how well that's going to go over with the public. And the conspiracy theorists. They'd put me out of a job."

"You could always take up stripping, you've already an ardent fan-base," Hanamaki impishly suggested.

"Don't start," Iwaizumi huffed, scrolling through the report till he got to the relevant section. "Anyway, we're implementing a couple new security measures, starting… in seventeen point three three minutes, actually. Hanamaki, you've been officially reassigned to covert guard duty. Your charge is His Royal Majesty right here."

Oikawa scrunched his nose when Iwaizumi pinned him with an unimpressed glare. "What? I'm a very good charge. Never caused trouble for anyone."

"Just two days ago you insisted on a one-hour detour to queue for a loaf of milk bread. My men were shitting bricks. Uh huh, and," Iwaizumi slashed his hand through the air to silence whatever protest Oikawa was coming up with. "And that's after that incident last week – when they were nearly convinced you'd been kidnapped, because you stole away to buy agedashi tofu. Agedashi tofu! You could have just requested for the kitchens to prepare that. Why the hell are we paying for a five-star in-house chef if you're running around – upsetting our schedules and my men's peace of mind – getting take-out?"

"You don't like the agedashi tofu they prepare here. You said it tasted 'too fusion'."

Iwaizumi frowned, stumped for a moment. Somehow, that completely derailed his tirade, and Oikawa just stared back at him with too-wide, too-innocent eyes. Clever bastard. Even Hanamaki and Matsukawa looked all touched and misty-eyed. Iwaizumi sighed. "Look, I'd take fusion tofu over you getting kidnapped, alright?"

"I knew it," Oikawa exclaimed, a hand over his heart. "You really do love me."

Hanamaki and Matsukawa collectively aww-ed at that, and Iwaizumi was torn between choking embarrassment and the intense need to throttle Oikawa. It was a familiar enough feeling, so he managed to largely ignore it. "Whatever. Just remember, we're on red alert now. So stay in Hanamaki's sight – and reach, if you can help it – at all times. That means no side-trips when you're out. If you get yourself killed, I will personally nag you into oblivion."

"Yes, dad."

"Kinky," Hanamaki faux-whispered to Matsukawa, with a very obvious, not-secret-at-all wink. "I bet they roleplay in the bedroom whenever we're not around."

Iwaizumi masterfully ignored that comment, and shouldered on. "Hanamaki, the team's come up with a cover for you that'll put you in close quarters with the royal idiot. Matsukawa, can you hand him the dossier?"

Matsukawa extracted a few sheets of paper from his file, and slid them across the coffee table. He caught Iwaizumi's eye. "Are you sure about this?"

"No. But the PR team's hoping it'll take the heat off the consort. We don't really want people snooping round Irihata Manor. The Grand Duke's assured us that the place is as reporter-proof as it gets, but you know how it is. Nothing's really reporter-proof these days," Iwaizumi sighed as Hanamaki flipped through the pages with an increasingly pronounced scowl. "I take it you've a couple of questions."

"Kept man?" Hanamaki whinged, jabbing a finger at the assignation in the first line. "I- I can kiss my undercover career goodbye after this stint. Iwa- Dammit! Why can't I pretend to be his… dog handler or something?"

"It wasn't my idea."

"You green lit it!"

"I couldn't come up with anything more persuasive. And everyone was tired and grumpy and sick of Mizoguchi's terrible office décor."

Hanamaki held up the dossier, pouting. "The rags are going to rip me to shreds. You know how much they love the consort. I'm going to be labelled the slut who ruined his marriage."

"Well, it's not too far off the mark," Matsukawa pointed out, looking from Hanamaki to Oikawa, "The best lies are usually part truth."

Hanamaki sniffed in indignation and chucked his empty Starbucks cup at Matsukawa. "Then you and Iwaizumi can do it. Why am I the only one on the chopping block?"

"I don't think we can pass off as kept men," Matsukawa replied, gaze flicking to the Director for a moment.

"And I can?" Hanamaki squawked, before turning to Oikawa with a vengeful glint in his eye and an accusatory finger jab in the king's general direction. "If anyone's a kept man here, it's him. All his job entails is smiling and waving and looking all king-like for the cameras."

"You're absolutely right," Oikawa demurred.

"Damn straight I- I'm- Did you just say I'm right?"

Oikawa shrugged, and poured himself more tea. "Come on, Makki. You know Iwa and Mattsun didn't mean to patronize when they gave you the job. And if you try to argue otherwise, I'll be quite mad. They're not saying you… give off 'kept-man-vibes' either, just that they're confident you'll be able to do your job well, even if it means pretending to be vapid arm-candy."

"You're just gift-wrapping this," Hanamaki snapped, before looking down at the dossier again and sighing. "Well, I guess it won't be too bad. I'll probably need to get my hair dyed, and extensions or something. Probably need to drop by the make-up unit for contacts and implants too. I should be hardly recognizable underneath all that."

"That's the spirit," Oikawa hummed.

Hanamaki made a face. "Sometimes I don't know if you're worth the trouble."

"I give good head," Oikawa reminded him, perfectly serious.

Matsukawa nodded. "He does."

Iwaizumi just covered his face with his hands and let out a helpless, resigned sort of groan.

♚♛♜♞♟♙♘♖♕♔

The media backlash was all they could have hoped for and more. Before the week was out, Hanamaki received no less than eight death threats himself, creatively penned, some beautifully detailed and others brusquely to-the-point in a "Hands off the King or we'll kill you" kind of way, from a few very passionate king-and-consort shippers. No dead animals or egged front doors as of yet, but he wasn't ruling out the possibility for the next couple of weeks.

Hanamaki popped an éclair into his mouth and looked over the balcony. Tea had been an awfully quiet affair so far, and that was definitely out of the ordinary. He caught a flash from the corner of his eye and fluttered his fingers in the general direction, blowing a kiss for good measure before pulling the curtains half-closed. God, the press really was everywhere. Which was kind of the point, but still… he didn't understand how Oikawa dealt with it twenty-four seven.

"Did they get your good side?" Oikawa asked, through a mouthful of mille-feuille.

Hanamaki tossed a chocolate-covered strawberry at him. "I only have good sides, dumbass."

The restaurant they were dining at had given them a nice private room on the top-most floor – not that it was really private, their photos were obviously going to be sold to the tabloids for the upwards of one grand by the end of the day, but that was The Point. Hanamaki hummed as he cut a piece out of the cream puff he'd ordered. The restaurant was famous for them. At least one good thing came out of this assignment – free food.

"You don't eat like a kept man," Oikawa remarked.

Hanamaki put the rest of the puff into his mouth – and it was a huge puff, just about the girth of Matsukawa's cock. He talked while chewing. "It's okay. You find my lousy table manners endearing."

"Did Iwa put that in the dossier?"

"Mm. No. I did," Hanamaki caught the spilling cream on his fingertips, licking it off slowly to savour the subtly milky goodness. "The best lies are part truth. Mattsun said so."

"And Mattsun's the one with a food fetish, not me," Oikawa made a face. "Anyway, should I post this photo, with Iwa looking all serious-and-sexy with his reading glasses on… or this casually-hot T-shirt-and-jeans Iwa? Plus points because his pants aren't zipped yet."

"Hand it over," Hanamaki replied with all the solemnity the situation absolutely called for. He flipped between the photos for a minute or so, before passing the phone back with a measure of gravitas. "I'd go with the spectacles. It says, subtle but smokin', and you want to leave certain things up to the fan's imagination. Also, Iwaizumi might really murder you if you post another shot of him with his pants down."

"It's not completely down," Oikawa protested, zooming in on Iwa's crotch.

"That's going to stop him when he has his fingers round your neck."

Oikawa rolled his eyes, although he obligingly swiped to the photo with spectacles-Iwa and proceeded to upload that one. "As much as I'd like to indulge in a little breath play, it won't do to have a King sporting strangulation bruises. The papers would probably chalk it up to another foiled assassination attempt, and our economy would plummet if investors think that the political situation is unstable."

"They're already speculating about the dissolution of the free trade agreement we have with Karasuno," Hanamaki pointed out, stabbing his finger at a copy of Sunday's Aobajousai Herald, "Look, right on the front page. WHAT A ROYAL DIVORCE WILL ENTAIL."

"At least everyone knows the Herald's trash," Oikawa said with a hapless shrug. "And it's not like we're in the fifteenth century, where we'd marry for military or economic benefits."

"Nah, it's the twenty-first century, so you'd just do it for positive publicity."

"I think I got a pretty good deal out of it, all things considered," Oikawa grinned, waving his spoon about for emphasis, "Couldn't have chosen a better consort."

"We could have ended up with a jealous harpy – who actually wants in your pants – and that'll be it for us. Iwaizumi would never sleep with you again," Hanamaki speared another cream puff with his fork cheerily, enjoying the way Oikawa wilted at that prospect. "He's too upright. Also, he'd probably lose his job, if your consort took it up with him. Or well, any of us, for the matter."

"I think I'd have abdicated. My nephew can be King. Then I can be your actual kept man, and you guys can cover my living expenses in exchange for amazing blowjobs."

Hanamaki tried to imagine an Aobajousai without Oikawa Tooru on the throne. It would be… well, kinda weird. Sort of like a Britain without Queen Elizabeth, or a Japan without Emperor Akihito. Oikawa Tooru had been King for a very long time, since his father had passed on way too early. Hanamaki didn't remember much about that period of time. He'd been six? Seven? There'd been all that talk about succession, and long parliamentary debates about the permissibility of female heirs – which really didn't get anywhere.

Hanamaki remembered the Princess Oikawa from back then, oddly composed and congenial, even at her father's funeral. She'd have been first in running for the crown if they'd revised succession laws to allow for female monarchs. Hanamaki liked her. She didn't take any crap from anyone, not from the paparazzi, not from her father's ministers. She'd have been a good Queen. But she wasn't. And so they'd been saddled with HRM Oikawa Tooru – _their_ Oikawa – and the rest was history.

"What's with that face?" Oikawa raised a brow at Hanamaki, teasing. "Considering my proposition?"

"What?"

"You know, being my sugar daddy."

Hanamaki choked on– he wasn't sure what he'd choked on, air probably. "Uh, no. Feeding you would decimate my pay check."

"We could split my expenses among the three of you. I know Iwa and Mattsun's on one of the highest pay grades."

Hanamaki toyed with the macarons on his plate, stacking them up so they alternated in pinks and blues. "Still not paid enough, considering the shit they've to put up with. And why're you suddenly harping on about this? Planning to abdicate soon?"

"Not for a couple of decades," Oikawa chuckled forlornly, and Hanamaki suspected that the ruefulness was more genuine than he'd played it. "Takeru's still got to go to college, join a couple of clubs, fool around with pretty girls – or boys, graduate, sign a contract with our national volleyball team, bring back the gold from the next FVIB championships, settle down with someone he actually loves, have a couple of kids, raise his kids good and then maybe in a few years, he'd be ready to pick up the baton."

Takeru was Oikawa's nephew, his sister's over-achieving-honour-student son, who was also currently set to inherit the throne on Oikawa's passing – or abdication. Tuesday afternoons were strictly off-limits in the King's schedule, because Takeru often came by the apartments for some quality uncle-nephew time.

Hanamaki paused. "What if Takeru doesn't make it to the championships?"

Oikawa shrugged. "The kid's got talent. He'll get there if he really wants it. And if he doesn't, then he can do whatever else it is he likes. Get out there, sow the seeds of youth and stuff."

Hanamaki responded with a half-hearted grin. Anyone who knew Oikawa – knew him for real, and not King-version-Oikawa – would know that he hadn't had much of a childhood. Or well, a life, in general. Being King was a full-time job. He didn't just get to go off the clock after six in the evening. Or ever, actually. Maybe when he had a foot in the grave – though Hanamaki suspected that the press and politics would dog his heels even then. A dying king was more newsworthy than a healthy one, after all.

Oikawa ducked his head, opening Iwaizumi's Instagram fanpage on his phone before exclaiming a little too brightly. "Oh look, glasses-Iwa's got near a thousand likes already. You've a good eye, Makki."

"It's part of the special agent training."

Oikawa considered him shrewdly. "Maybe I should recruit you in my Iwa-extolling endeavours."

"Oh no. No. You're not getting me in trouble with Iwaizumi too. Not when he's in charge of my pay slip."

"C'mon, Makki," Oikawa wheedled, putting on that god-awful, nerve-wrangling, conviction-chipping pout of his, that should honestly be _illegal_ for how effective it was. "Iwa's all bark and no bite. He wouldn't really dock your pay for the blatant invasion of his privacy."

"He totally would! Considering how I'm currently grossly overpaid for lazing around and stuffing my face with sweets," Hanamaki said, as he shoved a macaron into his mouth. "And why are you so… passionate about this Instagram thing? You damn well know how uncomfortable Iwaizumi is with the media."

"I'm always passionate about Iwa. Especially in bed."

"Good point," Hanamaki conceded with an eye-roll, "Although, you don't usually try this hard to piss him off. So what gives?"

"Nothing."

Hanamaki raised a brow.

"Really, it's nothing," Oikawa shrugged, in that carelessly eloquent way of his. "A little positive publicity doesn't hurt anyone. And Iwa's a public figure, whether he likes it or not. A hoard of fangirls ready to defend his honour makes as good a shield as the bulletproof vest he favours."

"You're telling me you're running his fanpage to protect him?" Hanamaki asked, dubiously.

"Also because I'm bored, and writing odes to Iwa's ass is a lot more fun than grand, lofty speeches for the new airport that no one's going to pay any attention to," Oikawa grimaced. "Except anti-crown bloggers. They'll dissect every word I say. Just so everything fits into their anti-monarchy manifesto."

"How's the speech coming along?"

Oikawa gave him a look. "It isn't."

Hanamaki rolled his eyes again, completely ready to tease Oikawa about the impending deadline and wrath of one Iwaizumi Hajime, but then his phone was buzzing, and he was contractually obligated to pick up his calls ASAP whenever he was on duty. "Gimme a sec, it's Iwa."

"Put him on speaker."

"What the hell, no. It could be a classified call," Hanamaki swiped to answer, "Director, what's up?"

"Ground team tells us there's a sniper on the King."

Hanamaki  paused, barely refraining from tensing and glancing over at Oikawa – who'd see right through his affected calm the moment their eyes met. Inwardly groaning, he shifted his chair slightly to the right, so he was nearer to the window, and could hopefully hinder any scope or bullet aimed at his charge. "Where?"

"We don't know, yet. They've picked up something on an encrypted radio frequency. We'll need some time to pinpoint the source," Iwaizumi's voice was devoid of inflection, cold and hard in the face of panic, "Get the King out as discreetly as you can. We don't want to provoke the sniper into action."

"Will do," Hanamaki said. Iwaizumi ended the call before he'd even completed his sentence, probably on the move.

Oikawa nodded at Hanamaki's phone meaningfully. "What did Iwa say?"

Hanamaki folded his hands in front of his mouth, thwarting any bid to lip-read their conversation. "Threat level's been raised. We need to get you to a secure location."

"There's something higher than red alert?"

"Yeah, it's called 'Fuck-Everything'," Hanamaki said with a reckless grin, although he didn't make any attempt to leave, just inched a little more to the right so he'd fill up more of the window. "Okay, Your Majesty. You're going to have to casually excuse yourself– leave your phone on the table, don't take anything. Just pretend you're going to the toilet."

Oikawa nodded, fingers gripping the edge of the table as he made to stand. "And you?"

"I'll be right behind you," Hanamaki picked up a macaron, held it poised at his lips. "Just go. Be quick about it, but don't rush."

Oikawa stood. And in the next second, their table exploded.

"Down! Stay down! Stay low!" Hanamaki shouted, diving to shield Oikawa with his body. Porcelain and glass shards rained down on them, and he felt a searing heat at his left shoulder. Hanamaki swore, reaching around with his right arm to press the distress button on Oikawa's watch.

"Makki, you're bleeding."

"Is my left arm still attached?"

Oikawa peered at him for a nerve-racking second. "Seems like it."

"Thank god," Hanamaki exhaled, he didn't get to say much more because the guards posted outside came flooding in and he had to go back to being a brainless, blubbering mess à la kept man. He clung to Oikawa in a proper display of needy hysteria, and didn't let up until the King was well surrounded, well out of the sniper's view, before finally acquiescing to fuck off somewhere – accompanied by Senior Guard Yuda who was fully-aware of his actual identity.

"Can you get me Director Iwaizumi on the line?" Hanamaki asked, as they jogged down the stairs, taking two at a time – he was almost tempted to slide down the banister which honestly seemed like a faster alternative.

"The Director's on the way, Special Agent Hanamaki. You're in need of medical attention."

"It's just a surface wound, don't sweat it. Look, this is important. Can you get me the Director?"

"He's–" Yuda cut himself off, catching sight of an unusually frenzied Iwaizumi briskly climbing up, making a beeline for them.

"Hanamaki," Iwaizumi greeted, relief blossoming in his eyes, "The King?"

"Secure, sir," Hanamaki snapped to attention like a good soldier. "I suspect that the sniper is on the roof of–"

"The bank three blocks down?"

"Yes, sir," Hanamaki said, surprised.

"We got it from the trajectory of the bullet. A team's been dispatched to apprehend him."

"Oh, good," Hanamaki exhaled.

The guard hovered awkwardly between them. "Director? Special Agent Hanamaki is in–"

"Don't worry, I'll take it from here," Iwaizumi dismissed him with a friendly pat on the shoulder, and continued up the stairs, probably eager to check on the King. "How did you find out?"

"Caught the glint off the scope before you called," Hanamaki replied, trailing after Iwaizumi, "It didn't occur to me till just now. I thought it was a camera."

Oikawa waved from behind a wall of bodyguards as Iwaizumi got to the top of the stairs, Hanamaki a couple of steps behind him.  The King looked mildly nonplussed with his security detail, but otherwise seemed unaffected by his recent assassination attempt. Well, he'd been a little unimpressed by all the dramatic action lately, Hanamaki noted, since it was so much a part of his life.  Especially after Attempt #17, the hijacked-plane-with-malfunctioning-motors incident, that one set the bar pretty high for near-death experiences.

"Iwa, great timing," Oikawa exclaimed.

"The car's waiting out front. Yahaba, take your team down to help with crowd control," Iwaizumi gave the man an encouraging smile as he hopped to it, "Watari, secure all exits."

The hallway cleared out in a matter of seconds, and Oikawa raised a plaintive brow when it was finally just the three of them – and Senior Guard Yuda. "I felt like I was suffocating underneath a pile of bodies."

"That's not funny," Iwaizumi sighed, inclining his head at Yuda in apology – the guard just grinned. "You're okay, Oi- Your Majesty?"

"Right as rain. Makki practically jumped me when the bullet came through. Quick as a bunny," Oikawa shot a glance at Hanamaki, surprised, "The medics patched you up real quick."

"Oh, about that," Hanamaki began, belatedly realising his shirt sleeve was uncharacteristically wet underneath the blazer. He didn't think he'd produce that much sweat, considering how the restaurant was nicely air-conditioned, even if the bullet had been scorching.

Iwaizumi turned to face him, and Hanamaki tried to look over his shoulder because their Director of Security appeared weirdly horrified. Only, when he attempted to twist his body, he suffered the strongest bout of vertigo.

"Makki," Iwaizumi yelled. At least, Hanamaki thought he yelled. He looked like it, with his face contorted in panic and his mouth wide – which was kind of how he looked mid-orgasm. But nobody needed to know that. Hanamaki frowned, trying to focus on Iwa's lips, which were moving, even though his voice seemed miles away.

The room blurred in a curiously photoshopped way. Hanamaki felt like he was falling. Or floating. Kind of like he was being carried away, by the wind, or waves, or Iwaizumi's wonderfully muscled arms. He struggled to open his eyes – when had he closed them? – managing a small crack, and saw that Iwaizumi really was lifting him. Onto a stretcher, he realised, as a number of medics swarmed about.

"Hold on, you moron." He thought he heard Oikawa say, a little tearfully, at his ear.

The flashes were downright blinding as they hustled him down the stairs and out the doors. Hanamaki spared a moment to lament about how he was definitely going to make the front page tomorrow. And then, he promptly passed out.

♚♛♜♞♟♙♘♖♕♔

Matsukawa studied the latest guard roster, accurate as of three hours ago, while absent-mindedly cutting an apple. Yuda had applied for a week's leave about a month or so ago. He was taking his mom on a vacation, and they'd promised him they'd be able to work it into the schedule. But Hanamaki was now officially barred from all strenuous activity per doctor's orders, and they needed an extra guard on the King.

With all the extra shifts, everyone was tired and on edge. Iwaizumi had insisted on reviewing all of their security policies – for good reason, of course, two near-misses within the span of a month was undeniably worrying. They needed to hire new recruits for the King's Guard, or maybe transfer a couple of off-site agents into the King's apartments. But that could take several weeks – the process included several psych tests and intensive background checks. Meanwhile, the amped up security measures meant a lot of their present employees were on the verge of being overworked.

"Mattsun, are you trying to puree my apple with that knife?" Hanamaki asked, propped up against the bedrest, his shoulder in a sling. Matsukawa sat up straighter in his armchair, glancing up from his file to consider the horribly disfigured fruit.

"Sorry," Matsukawa grimaced. "I don't suppose you're game for pie instead?"

"He's supposed to be consuming fresh fibre, not sweets," Iwaizumi reproved, walking into the room with a pot of chamomile tea on an expensive looking Meissen tray. Matsukawa frowned as Iwaizumi stoutly pushed a cup into his hands, saying, "It's good for stress."

Hanamaki groaned. "C'mon, Iwaizumi, live a little. Or let me live a little, at least."

"You can live a little when the doctor's cleared you with a clean bill of health," Iwaizumi replied.

"But it's been two weeks. And I'm bored," Hanamaki complained. "And my shoulder doesn't really hurt anymore."

His left arm gave an involuntary jerk, sending his tea cup tumbling into the sheets. Hanamaki hurried to recover it, but only succeeded in scalding himself when his hand got caught in the iv drip, the tea soaking through the bedding. He stared at the mess, looking unusually miserable. Staying in bed hadn't been easy for him, Matsukawa knew. Makki liked being in the middle of all the action, so downtime was always particularly stressful.

It was worse now that he'd been practically confined to the Blue Room of Oikawa's apartments, after the bullet nicked his subclavian artery and fractured his clavicle. The surgeons had taken hours to stem the blood flow and set the bone. And even then he hadn't been assured complete recovery. He was lucky though, if it had been a larger round or a hollow point, his shoulder would have been unsalvageable. He might not have survived, frankly. Matsukawa tried not to think too much about that. Thank god the extremists didn't seem to have much budget for expensive weaponry.

"If you don't take it easy, you won't be able to get back in the field," Iwaizumi chastised, not unkindly, as Matsukawa darted into the adjoining toilet for a damp hand towel, "The doctor said three months, Makki."

"It's boring," Hanamaki sullenly groused.

Matsukawa hummed sympathetically as he returned, offering Makki the towel. "We'll have a Playstation set up in here by tomorrow. Smashing through hordes of demonic mobs will make you feel better."

"But I can't use the controller if my left arm's so… twitchy," Hanamaki said.

"We'll get you a Kinect or a JoyCon then," Matsukawa said, "You'll be able to handle those with just your right arm. And Iwaizumi can put it on Security's tab."

Hanamaki brightened considerably at the thought of that.

"I'm not sure if I can submit a Nintendo Switch to Finance for requisition," Iwaizumi said, "They weren't particularly convinced when I sent them a bill for five dozen profiteroles and macarons, even though I'd repeatedly emphasized how important those were in Makki's stake-out."

"I took a bullet for the King on that stake-out," Hanamaki said, indignant.

"They've been talking about decorating you for it," Matsukawa told him.

"What?"

"For services to the crown," Iwaizumi explained, retrieving a sheaf of yesterday's papers left on the vanity opposite Makki's bed, "Public opinion of you has risen considerably in light of the latest assassination attempt. I think it's about fifty-fifty in favour of you getting some sort of official recognition for the… 'act of unexpected bravery'."

"That was a dig, wasn't it?" Hanamaki sniffed, "There's no pleasing the press."

"Well, most people don't expect rent boys to go about flinging themselves in the way of bullets," Matsukawa pointed out.

Hanamaki sighed. "Is it going to be one of those dreary ceremonial gigs? Long-winded talks, and a fuck ton of cameras? Count me out. I'd save Oikawa the trouble of writing another speech."

"Oikawa sends his regards, by the way," Iwaizumi said, as he pressed the button by Hanamaki's bedside to call for housekeeping, "He wanted to come by earlier, but you were sleeping. And he was on a tight schedule, ribbons to cut, with that new airport."

"Yeah, I got his text," Hanamaki unlocked his phone. "Oh and he updated your Instagram page."

"Don't tell me about it."

"Aw, look, it's a photo of us. You look very domestic with that apron on, by the way," Hanamaki grinned, pushing the phone in Iwaizumi's face, "And the mitts. Very… kitchen-savvy. He probably snapped this one a couple of days back. See, you were walking in with the chicken broth. I'd sell a kidney for that broth."

Iwaizumi looked torn between amusement and horror, although he eventually settled on exasperation. "It's my grandma's recipe. And if you like it that much, I'll make another pot when I've time off. No kidney required, although the thought is much appreciated."

"More potatoes, this time."

"Demanding," Iwaizumi commented, brows raised.

Hanamaki shrugged – or well, he attempted to, only to remember that his shoulder was still recovering and hurt when moved. He winced and bit back a whimper, scowling in annoyance. They really were going to have to find a way to stave off his boredom, Matsukawa sighed. A bored Makki was an unpredictable Makki. And he had a horrible tendency of accidentally wreaking havoc. Which was why the security team mostly kept him busy.

"Come in," Iwaizumi called, when a polite knock came at the door.

One of the cleaning staff peered in – new girl, clean enough record, not spotless, but that was normal. Matsukawa made it a point to study and memorise every member of Oikawa's household – right down to who does the laundry and the dishes. There was no room for error when it came to the King's safety. That was the family motto, he'd known ever since he was five or so, and his dad introduced him to the family business. The Matsukawa lineage had a long ancestry of knights – although in the recent decades, they'd branched out from the military to governmental positions. Matsukawa had stuck with tradition though, not out of any glorified notion about honour and familial duty. He just didn't think policy-making was really his thing.

"Sorry 'bout the extra work," Hanamaki said to the new girl, gesturing to his tea-stained sheets.

She smiled brightly. "Oh, it's no big deal. We'll get a fresh batch of linens for you. Just let me get this out of your hands."

Hanamaki lifted his arms gingerly, so she could pull the coverlet off. She was especially careful as she extracted the blankets, maybe because Matsukawa and Iwaizumi were both watching her like hawks. There was a short, almost unnoticeable pause, when she was gathering the cloth into a tight bundle, and Matsukawa thought he saw an oddly meaningful glance cast in Iwaizumi's direction. She seemed a little too enthusiastic about her job. Matsukawa considered her briefly, not likely a spy. A reporter then? He watched as she darted another look at Iwaizumi from under her lashes. Oh, a fan.

Hanamaki caught Matsukawa's eye and gave him a wide, shit-eating grin. He'd caught on too. Iwaizumi, on the other hand, seemed both perplexed and wary – he really had an unfortunate amount of self-awareness, their Director of Security.

"I bet she follows you," Hanamaki crowed, as soon as the girl left the room.

Iwaizumi blinked uncomprehendingly for a touch too long, and Matsukawa helpfully supplied, "Your Instagram account."

"That's Oikawa's account!" Iwaizumi protested.

"He runs it for you," Hanamaki said, "And the girl's totally following it, I'd bet my right arm."

Iwaizumi looked to Matsukawa – for moral support maybe, and Matsukawa shrugged, a little apologetically. "Makki's probably right."

"Told you," Hanamaki said to Iwaizumi, with the self-satisfied look of a cat that's had his cream.

Their bickering drew to a halt when the girl appeared again with a clean roll of blankets. She stopped short, as all of them turned to her – eyes going wide when she noticed Iwaizumi's too-intense stare. He was probably debating the merits of having the girl open up her Instagram account for their perusal. Possible lawsuit citing workplace harassment, and a significant likelihood of proving Makki right, not worth it, Matsukawa thought. Then again, the girl probably wouldn't sue Iwa, if she was making doe eyes at him. Matsukawa quickly relieved her of the blankets and sent her out, before either of his lovers embarrassed themselves.

"Mattsun, you scared the poor girl," Hanamaki complained, as Matsukawa tucked the blankets over him. "You practically shoved her out the door. Rude."

"Don't exaggerate, Matsukawa was perfectly civil," Iwaizumi chastised, "Although maybe a little hasty."

"He gave her the boot. Out the door. And slammed it in her face."

Matsukawa shrugged. "I'll apologise later. And chances are, she'll imagine that we were talking about something extremely top secret."

Hanamaki considered that. "True. It'll seem quite exciting. Perfect gossip fodder for the break room."

Matsukawa tidied up what little there was left of Makki's apple and left the cleanly sliced pieces on a plate, before binning the core. Typically, he'd peel the skin, because Makki didn't quite enjoy the texture, but he didn't this time on Iwa's orders. It was a perfect waste of good vitamins, according to Iwa. And Makki needed his vitamins, so no spoiling him.

"Sorry Makki," Iwaizumi said, as he repositioned the teapot on Makki's bedside table, "We're due at the airport in forty-five, so you'll have to keep yourself entertained for now."

"I guess my right hand's functional, at least."

"I'm not telling you to masturbate," Iwaizumi snorted, "There's plenty of other ways to keep yourself entertained. Like reading this stack of reports detailing our newly revised security protocol."

Hanamaki pursed his lips in a deeply thoughtful expression. "Nah, I think I'll just jerk off. Mattsun brought me porn. And Oikawa uploaded new material."

Matsukawa quickly shepherded Iwaizumi out of the room before the two could start another squabble, popping back in a moment later to give Makki his goodbye peck on the lips. He sighed as Hanamaki tried to deepen the kiss, and gently – but firmly – pulled away, despite Makki's disappointed whine. "Behave. And try not to antagonize Iwaizumi too much, alright? He's developing frown lines."

"Oikawa's right. Iwaizumi used to laugh more when we teased him."

"He's under a lot of pressure now. So be nice," Matsukawa said, and smiled when Makki made a show of flipping open the security reports Iwaizumi left him. "Be back in a few."

"Give Oikawa a kiss for me."

"Not in front of the cameras, I take it. That'll scandalise more than a few faint hearts."

"Well, why not," Hanamaki made a face, before shooing Matsukawa away, "It'll be nice to have someone else gracing the tabloids these days."

Iwaizumi was waiting down by the car when Matsukawa finally debriefed his team and sent them ahead of him. He nodded at Matsukawa as they both got into the backseat, but otherwise seemed preoccupied with whoever it was on the other side of his phone line. Their driver, Sawauchi, greeted Matsukawa with a wave from the rear-view mirror, and Matsukawa waved back. A quick glance at the dashboard told him they were right on schedule, which didn't explain why Iwaizumi looked as impatient and annoyed as he did. But then again, impatient-and-annoyed was kind of becoming Iwa's default. Matsukawa frowned, as he glanced at the updates sent to his own phone.

"Is everything alright?" Sawauchi asked, putting the car into ignition.

"I think so," Matsukawa met his eyes in the mirror, "Well, crowd control's having a hard time, but it's nothing out of the ordinary."

"Our king is adored by many," Sawauchi laughed softly. "Traffic conditions look nice and smooth, so we won't take long to get there. I trust the King is eager to be home."

Matsukawa opened the pouty selfie Oikawa just sent to their group chat, pointedly captioned with 'WHAT'S TAKING YOU GUYS SO LONG??'. "Uh, he's definitely eager."

"What's that idiot doing now," Iwaizumi muttered, hand over his mouthpiece as he leaned closer to peer at Matsukawa's phone, "Tell him to focus on the ceremony for god's sake. Stop fooling around in front of the cameras."

"Okay," Matsukawa answered, obediently typing, 'Iwaizumi says to focus on the ceremony for gods sake. Stop fooling around in front of the cameras'. "Angry face at the back?"

"What?"

He added an angry face – a fuming red one for emphasis – and clicked 'send'. Oikawa replied with another pouty selfie.

Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes at the screen. "I'm going to-"

'Iwaizumi says he's going to kill you'. Sent.

"I didn't say that!" Iwaizumi protested, before turning away and saying into his own phone, "No, I was talking to Matts- Deputy Matsukawa. Just a minor case of miscommunication. Right. You were telling me about the latest rumours circulating on-"

"Oikawa says, last I checked, regicide's still illegal," Matsukawa whispered.

"He said- Oh, is that right- Hold on a minute," Iwaizumi glared at the phone threateningly, and if Oikawa had been there to see it, he would surely have been clinging on to Matsukawa for dear life, "Sorry, Kindaichi, whatever it is going around on Twitter, I'm sure the PR team is more than well-equipped to handle, more so than me in any case. Tell Minister Mizoguchi I'll check in with him once we're back on the compound."

With that, he ended the call and opened up their chat. 'Oikawa you are so dead. Stop staring at your damned phone', the next message read.

'But I cant ignore my favourite director of security', Oikawa sent, with an angel emoji tacked on at the end.

'Im your only director of security dumbass,' Iwaizumi typed. 'And pay attention to the ceremony. Or I will personally kick your ass once we're there'.

'Idm as long as you kiss it better'.

Matsukawa choked back a laugh at Iwaizumi's look of incredulity, which was tinged with an exasperated sort of fondness. Honestly, Oikawa wouldn't get away with so much if Iwaizumi wasn't so sweet on him. Matsukawa grabbed onto Iwaizumi's hand before he could fire off another reply. "You can scold Oikawa when we get him in the car. We're only distracting him if we keep this up."

Iwaizumi grudgingly nodded, typing one last message which read, 'Ttyl. FOCUS ON THE CEREMONY. And you'd better not be on Instagram I swear'.

'Iwa come back!! Dont you love me anymoreeee??'

Matsukawa laughed as Iwaizumi gave a long-suffering groan.

'And im not on insta, cant have your notifs blowing up my phone mid-speech'.

Iwaizumi made a face, before turning his phone's screen off. "Thank god for small favours."

"Are you sure you're really upset about the Instagram account?" Matsukawa raised a brow, "I thought I saw you chuckling over a post just yesterday."

"Oh, shut it. Some of his captions are funny."

"Right, there's this… screenshot Makki sent me. Found it. Roses are red, violets are blue. Iwaizumi Hajime is the best thing that ever happened to me," Matsukawa read aloud, grinning as Iwaizumi turned bright red. "I bet you liked this one."

"Did not," Iwaizumi muttered.

"It's very sweet."

"It's dumb," Iwaizumi snapped, deflating a moment later under Matsukawa's knowing stare, "And, okay, a little sweet. But we're not telling Oikawa that."

"My lips are sealed," Matsukawa said solemnly.

They fell into a companionable silence as Sawauchi signalled out into the highway, and the next couple of minutes were spent looking out the window at the unfairly bright and sunny day. Although, Iwaizumi did seem rather cheered by the giant fireball in the sky. Matsukawa honestly preferred a nice and windy sort of weather himself, with good cloud cover for ample shade. But if the heatstroke-inducing sun made his grumpy boyfriend feel better, then he didn't think it was too bad.

Unfortunately, Iwaizumi's good mood plummeted as soon as Sawauchi took the exit leading towards their new airport. A long trail of production trucks lined the street, interrupted every now and then by more compactly-sized civilian vehicles. It was a damned security hazard – especially if they needed to make a quick getaway with the King – but the traffic cops weren't going to crack down on illegal parking for the day. It wouldn't be sporting, or auspicious, or good publicity. Not the smartest thing to do, making an enemy out of almost every news station in the country, and several foreign ones.

"I'm going to have to have a word with the organisers after this," Iwaizumi growled.

"I don't think they expected so large a turn-out," Matsukawa offered, although privately, he was as annoyed as Iwaizumi was.

"It's their job to prepare for this," Iwaizumi frowned – he really was going to develop frown lines at this rate, "This is practically a bloodbath waiting to happen. If we get swamped on our exit, I swear heads are going to roll."

"We stopped the off-with-the-head thing one point five centuries back. Our guillotine is seriously out of order from decades of disuse."

"Maybe we should have it sharpened."

"Can't," Matsukawa made a face, "It's in the national museum now, preserved as a historical artefact. We'd be vandalising state property."

"What a waste," Iwaizumi said, all mocking irony, before he glared once again at the illegally parked vehicles as if they personally offended him and added, "I'll send Watari's team ahead of us to keep the roads clear, just in case."

"Aye aye, sir."

Sawauchi parked them in one of the special VIP lots secreted away in the employee-only section. It had been cordoned off and marked with an elegantly designed placard saying 'Reserved for the Crown'. And as much as he appreciated the privacy, Matsukawa didn't like the extra fanfare. Something nondescript was usually preferred – made it more difficult for extremist groups or paparazzi to target their King.

"Yuda says the ceremony's coming to a close. Oikawa should be leaving the stage area in three minutes, give or take," Iwaizumi informed him, as they climbed out of the car. "We can head over to extract the King. Watari's already taken his team to patrol the roads, so our exit's covered. Contact Yahaba and Shido for me, and update me on their teams' positions."

"Understood," Matsukawa put on his Bluetooth headset, connecting to their private lines. Both team captains answered immediately.

Nothing suspicious so far, they reported. A couple of overly-eager reporters and civilians, but nothing their teams couldn't handle. No unidentified baggage left in toilets – male, female and handicap stalls checked, no loitering would-be assassins hiding up by the third-storey walkways. It was _all good_.

Iwaizumi turned to him as they finally exited the nearly deserted employee-only corridors and approached the makeshift stage area that took up most of the Arrival Hall. The organisers had managed to coordinate the ceremony's décor with the airport. The marble flooring was temporarily carpeted with turquoise nylon, which matched the cushions on the VIP-chairs and the satin drapes hiding the stage's scaffold. Aobajousai colours – very patriotic. Iwaizumi cleared his throat, with a meaningful look at Matsukawa's headset. "Anything?"

"All clear, Director," Matsukawa relayed. "I believe they described it as, unnaturally uneventful."

"Don't jinx us," Iwaizumi warned, but a little of the tension in his shoulders went away.

Matsukawa cast a quick glance at the rows of people – a sizeable portion seated, but most not – waiting restlessly as the host thanked King Oikawa for his precious time, esteemed presence, glorious charm, et cetera et cetera. Matsukawa always thought he'd be used to the sheer amount of people, but he was always a little surprised when he saw for himself just how many loved their King. Maybe because of how the far left was the most vocal on the media, it just seemed most people didn't care for the monarchy anymore. But that wasn't demographically accurate. The audience clapped a little louder than what was polite when Iwaizumi and Matsukawa walked over to escort Oikawa from his front-row seat right smack in the middle of front-row seats. It was the grateful, our-legs-slash-asses-are-sore-and-this-ceremony-is-finally-done-with sort of applause, which Matsukawa completely empathised with.

The camera flashes went off as Oikawa stood. He did it slowly, like he had all the time in the world to spare, and not like he'd been complaining over Telegram just fifteen minutes ago. He turned slightly to grace his people with a smile, and waved as they snapped away on their cellphones and cameras. The reporters were pressing forward now, a few of them shouting for Oikawa's attention.

"Director Iwaizumi!" someone called.

Matsukawa noticed Iwaizumi freezing up, but the second passed and their Director of Security was smoothly shepherding Oikawa away from the crowd.

"Director, is it true that you're having an affair with the King?"

Iwaizumi stumbled, and turned to the voice. "What?"

"It's been revealed that His Majesty's running your Instagram fanpage, did you know about that?"

"Is the rent boy just a cover for your relationship, Director?"

Iwaizumi stiffened and Matsukawa immediately took over, stepping forward to block out the flashes and reporters with his bulk. When had the press known? _How_ had the press known? Matsukawa frowned. Whatever it was, they needed to get the hell out before they got themselves cornered. He signalled to Iwaizumi, who had gone a shade paler, eyes dangerously narrowed and lips thin.

_Move_ , Matsukawa mouthed at him, with a small nudge to Iwa's ribs. Iwaizumi blinked at him, before giving a short nod.

"Did the Consort leave because His Majesty refused to take up his duty in the marital bed at your request?"

"How long has this affair been going on?"

Yuda and Shido came up to flank Matsukawa as they beat a hasty retreat. The press tried to swarm them, but their teams were already in place, holding off the surge of people. Iwaizumi ducked away from the microphones as he fired a set of orders into his own Bluetooth headset. "Sawauchi, get the car ready. We'll need a quick exit."

"Are you planning to marry Director Iwaizumi after the divorce, Your Majesty?"

"Is it true that you're looking for a surrogate mother for your heir?"

Oikawa walked on, ignoring the shouted questions with practised ease. Matsukawa let Yuda take the King's side and focused on sheltering Iwaizumi, who looked grim and unaffected, but was probably sweating bullets underneath that badass-security facade. Heaven knew Iwaizumi barely tolerated the paparazzi on a good day.

They managed to force their way through the increasingly pushy crowd, and got to the employee-only section with just a bit of muscling and shoving. The King went stumbling through the doors, and Iwaizumi righted him with a firm hand on his arm, only to pull back at the really loud barrage of camera shutters going off.

"I told you to shut down that account," Iwaizumi hissed as they briskly marched down the corridors leading to the carpark, Matsukawa closely bringing up the rear, "I told you. Did you listen? No!"

"I didn't tell anyone side from Makki and Mattsun! There's no way the press could've found out!" Oikawa protested.

"Oh right, the few hundred people shouting at me about our sex life didn't look like reporters, did they? They were probably all just doctors concerned about the amount of unprotected sex we're having!"

Oikawa huffed, stopping at the back of the sedan, while Iwaizumi stalked his way over to the passenger's seat. "If you shout any louder, they're going to print 'KING AND DIRECTOR ADMITS TO HAVING UNPROTECTED SEX' on tomorrow's paper."

"They wouldn't be printing anything about our sex lives if you hadn't thrown them a bone on fucking Instagram!" Iwaizumi gave an unintelligible yell as he yanked the car door open, forcefully planted himself beside Sawauchi, before slamming it close.

Oikawa did a pretty accurate impression of a kicked puppy, staring mournfully at the angrily shut door.  Matsukawa nudged him gently in his side. "He'll get over it. And you should get in the car before Iwaizumi hits the roof."

"You mean he hasn't?" Oikawa groaned.

"Before he goes through the roof," Matsukawa amended, with a small grin.

Iwaizumi rolled his window down. "Get in. Now."

The window went back up and Oikawa whimpered, "He's going to kill me."

"Nah, we're paid too much to keep you alive, to risk it all in one temper tantrum," Matsukawa opened the door to the passenger's seat and shooed Oikawa in, "Go on. I'll let you hold my hand when he's yelling at you."

"Meanie."

"Oikawa, get the fuck in the car!" Iwaizumi snapped.

Oikawa lunged into the car in a very un-kingly way, then pouted unhappily at Matsukawa, who smothered a chuckle as he climbed in after His Royal Majesty.

Iwaizumi huffed. "Get us out of here, Sawauchi."

"Yes, sir."

"And you," Iwaizumi pinned Oikawa with an impressively terrifying glare, "Not a word till we're home. If you so much as whine about how… how… how ridiculously I'm 'over-reacting'," – they could practically hear the quotation marks – "I'm gonna do something I will fucking regret. Do. Not. Make. Me. Do. The. Thing."

His impressively terrifying speech was rudely interrupted when Sawauchi cussed at the traffic build-up leading away from the airport, which featured a long trail of cars bumper-to-bumper for the next foreseeable couple of kilometres. Iwaizumi growled, Oikawa withered and Matsukawa sighed. It was going to be an uncomfortably long ride home.

♚♛♜♞♟♙♘♖♕♔

Oikawa spent the next two weeks trying to make it up to Iwaizumi, who veered between coldly dismissive and outright explosive. He didn't handle the tabloids well, or Twitter. Or the fanmails. He didn't actually get to see the hatemails, because Oikawa ordered all of those incinerated before Iwa could freak out about them too.

Okay so maybe, it was kind of Oikawa's fault that he hadn't noticed his own reflection in the background of that one photo he'd uploaded to Insta, which some overzealous fan picked up on. In his defence, the picture quality was shit and he didn't understand how anyone could tell it was him- Although, granted, his face was literally on every minted coin, so his people might be sort of really familiar with his silhouette. It went on to explode all over Twitter, and then Tumblr, before some of the official news sites hopped onto that bandwagon – although maybe calling the Aobajousai Herald an official news site was stretching it, because _everyone knows the Herald's trash_.

Well, on the up side, Iwa didn't have his own Twitter account – just like how he didn't have an Insta. On the down side, he got hourly updates about the social media situation from Mizoguchi – or he did for the first two days, before Oikawa begged the minister to quit it. Hearing about how #IwaOISecretRomance was trending just made Iwaizumi twitchy and unhappy. Obviously, there was no sex to be had, not even a handjob was on the table. It was a rather depressing week, in Oikawa's completely objective opinion.

So they were nearing Day Twenty of Iwa's I-Am-Angry-At-Oikawa campaign and he was showing no signs of relenting, but that was fine – okay, not exactly _fine_ – but Oikawa could be persistent. He'd made an art out of getting under Iwa's skin after all.

"Makki! Mattsun!" Oikawa beamed as he rounded the corner leading to their second – or maybe it was the first – parlour, spotting his indefinitely-on-sick-leave bodyguard, who was in deep conversation with his Deputy Director about something-that-definitely-looked-like-work, "Have any of you seen Iwa?"

"He should be in the security office," Mattsun said, turning to nod at him, "Ah, but now's not a good time."

"Huh. What's up?"

"Nothing," Makki and Mattsun replied together, which was just about as suspicious as a ticking black duffel shoved under a seat in an airport. Makki tried to shrug, but his shoulder sling didn't let him.

Oikawa made a face. "Okay, what's not up?"

"A small security breach," Mattsun confessed, although he looked slightly pained at that admission, "We're on it. Our teams are going through each room, just stay near Makki-"

"He's on sick leave, you slave drivers!"

"Stay near Makki," Mattsun repeated, "And the second parlour should be clear, Yahaba's already swept it."

"Ugh, alright, fine-"

"Where are you going?"

Oikawa looked at the parlour just up ahead. "That's the second-"

"That's the first parlour. Oikawa, this is _your_ house, you know," Makki rolled his eyes skyward.

"I didn't number my parlours, you guys did! I don't even know why I have seven parlours."

"You have eight. And the second parlour's the one near the gym," Mattsun pointed him in the general direction, and _of course_ Oikawa knew where that parlour was, he just didn't know it was the _second_ parlour, thought it was the fourth. Gym kind of felt like a four to him, because you know, sweating hot bods and Iwa's lovely rippling abs made him think of _fore_ play, so yeah, four. They should update their numbering system.

"I'll walk him there. You go ahead and check in with Iwaizumi," Makki told Mattsun.

"Wait! Why can't I go with Mattsun to see Iwa?"

"Because Iwaizumi's already wound up to eleven and you'll mess his with schedule if you're there," Makki blithely replied while tugging him along – Oikawa only allowed it because he didn't want Makki's arm hurt, "So be a good boy and you'll be rewarded later."

"Is it going to be a sex thing?"

"Is that all you can think of? Sheesh."

"But you said it in your sex voice," Oikawa pointed out with an unrepentant grin, lowering his pitch to a husky growl as he continued, "So how are you gonna reward me, Makki?"

"With a glass of water, because you sound thirsty as fuck."

"Makki!" Oikawa exclaimed in faux affront, "That pun was criminal."

"I try."

They were almost at the fourth- no, second parlour when there was a clearly audible pop from somewhere in the apartments and then a distinct hissing. Makki's head swivelled to him, and Oikawa could have sworn he just saw five seconds into the future, where he'd be tackled to the ground _again_ , for his own safety of course, but _again_. And Makki really shouldn't be jostling his shoulder like that, for heaven's sake.

"Watch the sling!"

"What?" Makki blinked at him.

"I mean, if you're going to jump on me again. Watch out for your sling."

"I don't have any reason to jump you _now_ ," Makki said, gesturing vaguely at some stairwell where the hissing was coming from, probably. "The threat is in that direction, not above us. And we need to get you out of here ASAP."

"Oh. Well, why didn't you say so, dummy? Lead the way then," Oikawa replied reasonably, because he actually had some common sense, and knew to listen to his guards when they were in the middle of a crisis (even if he made it a point not to listen on a regular basis).

Makki made a face, but refrained from further commentary as he herded Oikawa back the way they came from. Despite the clunky shoulder sling, Makki moved with a sleek, panther-like grace. This was the Makki Oikawa didn't usually get to see, the Makki who had his eyes on the mission objective, and didn't waver till his job was complete. Oikawa understood, he wasn't Makki's boyfriend then – not first and foremost – he wasn't even his _friend_ , he was his charge and Makki's objective was to _protect_. That meant Oikawa didn't have the luxury of fucking around as he liked, because Makki would step between Oikawa and whatever was out there, put his life on the line if required. So Oikawa was obedient, for the time being anyway.

"Put this over your mouth, we don't know what's in the fumes," Makki ordered, after ducking into a nearby toilet and retrieving a damp towel.

Oikawa politely complied, and they were quickly joined by Yuda and Shido, who snapped to attention like good soldiers and told Makki they were to see the King out on Deputy Director Matsukawa's orders. So Oikawa was shepherded past a few corridors and down a dozen flights of stairs, with Yuda leading the way – gun in hand, and Shido behind him – gun also in hand, and Makki at his elbow – gun surprisingly not in hand, but Oikawa had the feeling his lover was just as deadly, gun or no gun.

Sawauchi was thankfully in the driver's seat when they got to the garage. The few times Oikawa'd been kidnapped, they had Sawauchi replaced with someone else, so someone other than Sawauchi in his car kind of set off alarm bells now.

"You know the drill," Makki said as Oikawa was swiftly packed off into the discreet black sedan.

"You're to go with the King, Agent Hanamaki," Yuda intercepted, "Deputy Director's orders."

"Deputy-" Makki's eyes narrowed, before he spun around, "And Director Iwaizumi? What are his orders?"

Yuda paused. "We can't say, Agent. But His Majesty needs to be out of here pronto."

Makki nodded shortly and sidled in after Oikawa, telling Sawauchi, "We're good to go," even though Oikawa could tell he was bothered and wanted to stay on site, where all the action was. But orders were orders, and Makki took them in stride with an unsurprising lack of fuss. He was on his phone throughout the car ride, shoulders tensed and lips curling in an increasing amount of displeasure, as he typed away… doing secret agent things Oikawa knew not.

So they were finally at one of the Crown's safe-houses, a quaint little lodge that seemed to have sprouted from its forest-y backdrop – all rustic charm, promises of peace and a deplorably weak 4G signal – about an hour away from the city, when Makki finally pulled away from his phone, a grim look on his face. Oikawa turned on the television first thing when they got in, and _of course_ , it was already all over the news. NEWSFLASH: SMOKE SPOTTED AT THE BLUE TOWER. (That was what the press had affectionately termed Oikawa's living quarters, kind of like bat cave but flashier.) BREAKING NEWS: BLUE TOWER UP IN SMOKE, KING'S STATUS UNDISCLOSED. And then there was the all-time favourite, rumour-mongering, BLUE TOWER UNDER SIEGE, HIS MAJESTY MISSING IN ACTION.

"Hey, I've got updates from Mattsun," Makki said, snatching the remote away and putting it on the coffee table. "Stop staring at the TV, you need to hear this."

"What is it?"

"The people who broke in today, they weren't after you."

That was… new. "They weren't?"

Makki shook his head. "They were after Iwaizumi."

What? They were after… _Iwa_? Why?

The incredulity must have shown on his face, because Makki continued with a helpless shrug, "They think he's your secret lover – which is, well, true, so point to them. They've been making ransom demands."

"Ransom-" Wait, that wasn't right, that meant- "They… They _have him_?"

Makki ran a hand through his hair, wincing. "Unfortunately, yes. Mattsun's team found Watari knocked out – he's fine, just slightly concussed, and Iwaizumi gone, about thirty minutes ago. Estimated time of kidnapping's probably around noon. They can't tell because the security footage has been tampered with."

Noon, just about when they'd been escorting Oikawa off site. They should have been with Iwa. Oikawa tried to swallow, tried to think. And all his brain could come up with was: _they have Iwa_. It didn't make any sense. Iwa was trained. He was combat proficient. He wouldn't have gone down without a fight, so that meant… he was hurt. Of course, Makki said Watari was _fine_ and he was _slightly concussed_. Of course, Iwa was hurt. Oh god. Iwa was hurt.

"What," Oikawa heard himself say, voice steadier than he actually felt, "What do they want? Money?"

"Nothing so simple," Makki replied with a wry twist of his lips.

"Whatever it is, we'll get it to them," Oikawa ordered, they had to, they couldn't leave Iwa with those… those… brutes; if those assholes did anything to Iwa, he would-

"Yeah, we can't. They want you to publicly renounce the monarchy."

"But… But that would take _months_! It'll have to go through parliament. They'd have to draw up the bill, and then vote it through. It's not like I can just hand in a resignation letter somewhere!"

Makki gave him a look, and Oikawa's heart sank. "We know that. But they don't, or maybe they do, and they're refusing to listen to reason. Yuda's been at the negotiation table for a while now. And Mattsun's already sent Yahaba's team to the caller's location, but he doesn't think Iwa's there, so they've orders to stay back and observe."

"What happens if they don't get what they want? The kidnappers?"

"We don't know-"

"No," Oikawa pressed on, "There's always an 'or else' in ransom demands. Give us this, or else we'll do this. See? I know how it works. So what's the 'or else' this time?"

Makki shrugged, and then sucked in a breath because his shoulder was still injured. There'd been too much of that lately, Oikawa realised, people he cared about getting hurt because of him. He'd known for ages, though, that it would happen. Kings didn't have the luxury of love, not when they were servants of the people. It was why they'd always been in the closet like precious little secrets, even though he wanted the world to know he loved Iwa and Makki and Mattsun.

"The usual," Makki finally said, glaring at his shoulder like it betrayed him, "You know, the usual 'or else' things they tell us when they have you."

"So… they'll post embarrassing sex photos of him online?" Oikawa asked, almost hopefully.

"No, you already did that," Makki coughed, then sighed, "They'll send him back in pieces. If we don't come up with an appropriate response, by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Oikawa repeated, voice going thin and reedy.

"Would have been midnight today, but Yuda negotiated for an extension, said we needed time to pull together a press conference and whatnot. So we have until fifteen hundred tomorrow, before they…"

"Send him back in pieces." Oh, god, he was going to hurl. They were going to send _Iwa_ back in pieces. And all he could do was just sit and wait. He didn't know how they did it, Makki and Mattsun – stay sane, when Iwa was going to be _fucking butchered_. Okay, maybe they had a lot of prior experience, after all those times Oikawa got himself in a pickle. But this was _Iwa_ , dammit – Iwa, who'd always rode in like his knight in shining bulletproof vest, dual-wielding handguns, combat boots and all. Iwa had _never_ been kidnapped before.

Makki pursed his lips. "It won't come to that. We'll have him located before they lay a hand on him."

"You don't know that!" Oikawa very nearly shouted, pausing to _get a grip_ , "What if- Why don't we just hold a press conference anyway? I can do that."

"That's out of the question."

"But-" Oikawa started, then stopped, eyes narrowing on Hanamaki as understanding dawned, "That's why Mattsun sent me away. He was already taken, wasn't he? Back then? You guys didn't want me to _interfere_."

"Oikawa, we can't guarantee that they won't just off Iwaizumi once they get what they want. It's really possible that they would."

"But- But I could buy us time!"

"It's not up for discussion. I have orders to keep you here, until-"

"Until they send Iwa back to us in bloody pieces!"

"That's not going to happen," Makki snapped, face flushed a livid red, before he reined that anger in, and continued a little brusquely, "We saved you all those times, and we'll save Iwa too. Full stop. End of discussion."

He stomped out of the sitting room and into the kitchen, so Oikawa was left to stew alone on the couch. In front of the bloody TV. Which was still going on about how no one knew if _His Majesty_ was safe. He was fucking fine, thank you very much, but Iwa- Oh god, Iwa. Iwa had to be fine. He had to come home – in one piece. Their security team had always gotten to Oikawa in time, so they'd get to Iwa in time too. Oikawa tried to console himself with that logic, but there was a tiny voice at the back of his head reminding him that their response time had only been so quick because of all the nifty tracking equipment they'd put on him. And Iwa… Iwa wasn't wearing anything of the sort. _Please, please, please let him be fine_.

Makki came out of the kitchen after a while, looking tired and frustrated and scared, which was exactly how Oikawa felt. They sat in front of the television together, which was now reporting that Oikawa was safe and out of the city, according to 'reliable sources'. And they got it right this time, so Oikawa couldn't even poke fun at them. Updates about Iwa's kidnappers slowly trickled in from Mattsun by way of Makki's cellphone, brief and succinct messages that didn't offer much, but Oikawa hung onto every word.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Someone came by with food – they bought him milk bread, as a peace offering probably. Oikawa finished everything without tasting a single bite. He'd swear off milk bread for the rest of his life if that meant Iwa would come home safe. When Makki finally told him to catch some sleep, Oikawa stubbornly refused to leave his spot on the sofa. Makki blew out an exasperated breath, and ended up hauling out pillows and blankets from the bedroom. It reminded Oikawa of the sleepovers they had during their dorm-sharing college days. He always called dibs on the couch, and even though the rest protested, they'd always let him have it. Makki always slept near the windows and Mattsun's designated space was by the door. And Oikawa would wake the next morning not on the couch, but on the floor curled up against Iwa, who'd been sleeping an arm's reach away, as if he was bent on protecting Oikawa even when he was dead to the world.

Oikawa dozed a little over the night, ordering Makki to shake him awake whenever news from Mattsun came in. By morning, they'd managed to pin down the identities for several of Iwa's kidnappers, and they were checking out every property registered or leased under their names. Neither Oikawa nor Makki had the stomach for breakfast, so they skipped that entirely, fixated on Makki's phone as they both were. It wasn't until half past one that Mattsun's team had a breakthrough.

"They found him!" Makki shouted, eyes alight, "Kyoutani detained the caller from yesterday. Forced him to ring up the brains of their operation, while Yahaba traced the IMEI number. They heard Iwaizumi's voice in the background, so it's a near sure thing!"

"Iwa's fine?" Oikawa heard his voice break on Iwa's name.

"He's… He's alive. I don't think they've set off any alarm bells with the kidnappers. They just need to calculate his coordinates and-" Makki's phone beeped and he glanced at it, brows pulling down.

Oikawa's pulse jackrabbited. "What did Mattsun say?"

"He's really far out."

"What?"

Makki grimaced. "They can't get to Iwaizumi in an hour and a half."

"What- What if they took the copter? Or if they contacted the police in the precinct?"

"We're trying to practise discretion here, Oikawa."

"I don't give a damn about discretion, I just want Iwa home!"

"What do you think the kidnappers would do if they heard a giant fucking copter coming, huh?"

Oikawa could certainly imagine a number of things they'd do. Kidnappers had a tendency of coming up with really colourful threats while holding him captive, which was _not_ an indication of how much he got on their nerves while tied up in the back of their car. Oikawa bit out a curse, clenching his fists so his nails bit into his palm. They were so _close_. They had to do _something_. Iwa was- Iwa was going to come _home_.

And suddenly. It struck him.

"I can stall them!"

Makki stared at him like he'd gone off the deep end. " _How?_ "

"I'll give a really, really long public speech!" Oikawa declared, jumping up from the couch, "Without actually renouncing anything. I mean I'm very good at talking while saying nothing. I can just go on and on and on and on. About absolutely nothing. Which is why Iwa goes through all my speeches. Although, it's not like they allow me to say anything important on camera anyway- But the point is, I can talk and distract those lousy bastards! And maybe if they see my beautiful face, they'll forget about hurting Iwa!"

"That's not half bad an idea, actually. They'll be so preoccupied with wanting to punch your annoying mug, they'd forget about Iwaizumi altogether."

"I'm not joking, Makki!"

Makki made a face, before pointing out. "You know, it's a little too late to pull together a press conference."

"Nonsense. I have my press conference right here!" Oikawa produced his cellphone with a flourish. "As long as I have a decent signal- which I do! The perks of owning a state-sponsored satellite adaptor. And I've… seven point nine million followers on Iwa's Instagram account now, it tripled even though I haven't been posting anything- Well, whatever, that's a good thing! The kidnappers will surely know the moment I go live!"

"You're… going to stall them with an Instagram Live video."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Makki opened his mouth, closed it as he thought better of whatever he was going to say, then said, "Okay, I'm going to pretend I don't know whatever it is you're doing."

"So you think it's a good idea."

"I think it's a shitty idea," Makki clarified, "And I'm going out on the porch to talk to Mattsun, so I'm not looking at you. And I haven't the faintest idea of what you're getting up to."

"Does that mean-"

"I'm going out now!" Makki yelled as he stalked out very dramatically – Oikawa must be rubbing off him, but he peered back in five seconds later and added, "Don't get up to anything till it's fifteen minutes to three."

"Got'cha. I'll start the Live Video at two forty-five!"

"Oh my god, Oikawa, discretion!"

Then Oikawa was alone in the lodge – alright, not really alone, because there were at least three of Mattsun's men around. Somewhere. Probably within a hundred metre radius. And he was staring at his phone, scrolling through all of Iwa's photos in his gallery, and getting a little teary-eyed about it. So he uploaded a selfie with both him and Iwa – him grinning, Iwa looking perpetually exasperated and just the tiniest bit _fond_ – promising an 'interesting announcement' over a Live Video in the next hour or so, before putting the phone away to charge while he went to grab a bite in the kitchens.

The cupboards were stocked full of milk bread. _Only_ of milk bread. At this point, he wasn't sure if it was because he liked it, or because it was convenient for whoever buying their meals. But whatever, at least he had his milk bread.

At precisely two forty five, Oikawa was squinting into his cellphone camera, thinking 'Oh lord, I look hideous', while the viewership count progressively climbed and the comments flooded in. He had _rings_ underneath his eyes, and someone had the _nerve_ to comment upon it. Rude. You just didn't tell a King he looked like a panda, even if he did look somewhat… panda-like. Well, at least pandas were _adorable_. He wouldn't stand being compared to a… a… _racoon_. The nerve.

"My fellow people of Aobajousai, I know the past twenty-four hours have been… difficult. Your concern and well wishes have touched my heart, and I would like to assure everyone that I'm in good health," best get all the unimportant bits out of the way first – he paused as the comment section kind of exploded, there was a bit of lag, hopefully Instagram's servers wouldn't spontaneously combust, "I had a bit of an accident making lunch, which is why you saw all that smoke. But don't you worry, only my dignity sustained any sort of injury."

He waited a little for Instagram. To. Stop. Lagging. Alright. "My awful cooking abilities aren't the point of this video, by the way. That's not the big announcement."

Oh god. Will. It. Stop. Lagging. Already? "Right, sorry, could you guys stop spamming for a moment? I think we're overloading the servers, and I really don't want to be slapped with a lawsuit because I broke Instagram or something. Okay, okay, you got me there. I have sovereign immunity. But it's not very polite to blow up someone's servers, so just… stop keysmashing over in the comment section. Yes, _thank_ you."

Now, his big announcement. Oikawa paused. Oh right, he didn't have one. "So… what I wanted to say is…"

He didn't know what he wanted say. "I love Iwaizumi Hajime."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! flooded the entire comment section. And Oikawa was reeling from the absolute horror-and-exhilaration of the world's most glorious foot-in-mouth moment ever to go down in history. Okay. Iwa was going to kill him, once he'd been saved from the kidnappers.

"Don't spam! No spamming! I know you have uncontrollable _feels_ , just go tweet about it. Not in my comment section, _thank_ you! Yes, and obviously, I've been running his Instagram account, which is why I'm Live here," he fluttered his fingers a little at the camera. "I mean, I love Makki and-"

He stopped himself _just_ in time. THREESOME. OT3. IWAMAKKIKAWA. Oikawa blinked at the comment section. Okay, this was _not_ how he envisioned the speech going, but in for a penny. "We went to college together, you know. Oh, Iwa and I go way back. We've been playing together since we were kids. We went on all those expeditions to-" okay, maybe he shouldn't mention the aliens, "Catch bugs. Iwa was such a sweet little boy. He always released them after, because he couldn't bear the thought of keeping his precious bugs all cooped up."

He spent the next half hour telling anyone who would listen about how amazing and brave and kind his Iwa was. And there really was a lot to say, Oikawa soon realised. He didn't think he stopped to catch a breath. There was the time Iwa saved him from- Oh right, the public didn't know about the aquarium shoot-out- Impending essay deadlines! Stayed up with him all night to churn out five thousand words. And there was the time they had sex on the beach- No, not actual sex on the beach, which would be terribly unsanitary, get your minds out of the gutter. Alcohol, he was talking about alcohol. He spilled his drink down the front of Iwa's shirt, because Iwa had been a stuffed shirt all day, insisting he was _on duty_ , and Oikawa just wanted Iwa to loosen up and maybe take a few layers off.

When one of the guards knocked on his bedroom door and held out a sign reading "Director Iwaizumi is safe", Oikawa had half a mind to keep talking, until the man flipped the sign over and the other side read "They're coming here". Oikawa nearly bit his tongue off while hastily ending the video with a quick, "Okay, that's it. Thanks for listening. Love you guys, bye". He ran out onto the porch, where Watari was blatantly neglecting his duties with his head bowed over his phone and his shoulders shaking in badly suppressed laughter- And was he watching Oikawa's live-stream on _YouTube_ , what on earth- Someone was stealing his viewers! Whatever, Oikawa couldn't care less. Iwa was safe! And coming home! And Oikawa was going to die a horrible, horrible death, oh no. Also, where was Makki?

As it turned out, Makki had been gone for over an hour. Oikawa realised, as a familiar black SUV pulled up into the driveway several minutes later, and Makki – the little sneak – was riding shotgun. Of course, _he_ got to join in on all the action. Oikawa sniffed. Although, he was mostly just thankful that all his boyfriends were alive and not in pieces and… flashing him the victory sign from behind the dashboard. Really, Makki.

Then the car stopped, and Makki jumped out, followed by Kyoutani who practically bust open the backdoor, and finally – waving away all offers of support – a slightly bruised up Iwa, with a bandage round his ankle and a shiner blooming brilliantly across his left cheek.

"Oikawa, you idio-" Iwa never got to finish that sentence, because Oikawa covered the few metres between them in the blink of an eye, and then he was hugging Iwa and crying and telling him how afraid he'd been and to never, ever, _ever_ do that again, because Oikawa would _die_ if anything happened to Iwa and then parliament would have to rehash all those inheritance issues and the country would _explode_.

Iwa sighed and petted his hair throughout his sniffling, and when he finally calmed down enough to stop soaking Iwa's shirt through with tears and mucus, Iwa pressed a kiss to his temple and said, voice rough, "Of course I'm not going anywhere, you moron, I love you too."

♚♛♜♞♟♙♘♖♕♔

All of them knew Oikawa was going to be far, _far_ up the creek, with both the parliament and the press. But those were tomorrow's troubles, and Oikawa would pole-vault over that rickety old bridge when he got to it. Tonight… tonight, he was going to _have sex_. Fucking finally. Filthy, down and dirty, pornography-worthy sex. With Mattsun and Makki and Iwa – who'd been cleared with a clean bill of health by one of Oikawa's royal physicians, although he'd been warned to stay off his right foot.

Mattsun had come down from the city a couple of hours after Makki and Iwa arrived at the lodge, physician in tow. Like Oikawa, he greeted Iwa with a hug, although significantly less tears, mucus and babbling had been involved. He kissed Iwa chastely on his still-swelling cheekbone, whispering a heartfelt, "I'm glad you're safe", before pulling Makki away to another room where he proceeded, presumably, to chew the poor guy out. Oikawa thought it rather unfair, but Iwa fully approved of the chew-out session. Because 'his shoulder still needs the sling, for god's sake, what on earth was he _thinking_?'

"Saving you, obviously. And I think I'm jealous," Oikawa had announced.

Iwa had looked at him like he'd grown another head – and he didn't mean the one below his waist.

"Well, Makki got to ride in and be your Prince Charming, leaving me here, alone, to be babysat by others. Again," Oikawa complained.

Iwa coughed and said in a voice barely audible, "You kinda helped."

"You don't have to lie to make me feel better."

"I'm not lying," Iwa said, "They were so intent on watching your stupid video, they didn't notice when Makki took out their look-out."

"Oh my god, so my plan worked!"

Iwa groaned in despairing disbelief, and Oikawa chivalrously allowed him first dibs on the shower. Well, he _was_ covered in dirt and grime, wherever his kidnappers had kept him must have been _awful_. Unfortunately for Iwa – and fortunately for Oikawa, the bathroom was not exactly the best place to be hobbling around on one foot, with the other wrapped in a plastic bag. Iwa allowed him in with a disgruntled huff.

"We're not having shower sex," Iwa said, as Oikawa helped him out of his clothes.

"No offense, Iwa. But I'm not thinking of sex when we smell like we wrestled naked in the sewers."

"No one wrestled naked anywhere."

"But we're going to be wrestling naked later," Oikawa said smugly, and then he frowned, "So you _were_ in the sewers?"

"No. Landfill."

"Ugh." Oikawa grimaced while propping Iwa's foot up on a stool – which put his face in general vicinity of Iwa's crotch, but no. No shower sex. Not when Iwa had been through something _horrible_ , and needed to be pampered within an inch of his life. Although… maybe he would be amenable to a handjob-

"No. Shower. Sex."

No handjob then.

Oikawa was in the process of lathering up Iwa's hair, when the door burst open unceremoniously, and Makki and Mattsun strode in like it was perfectly natural for them to walk in on Oikawa and Iwa canoodling in the shower. Okay, fine, it kind of was. Oikawa gently massaged Iwa's scalp, watching lazily as Makki and Mattsun both disrobed.

Makki grumbled as Mattsun helped him out of the sling and he straightened his arm. Then he (predictably) kicked their pile of clothes to a corner, at which point, Iwa ordered, "Pick those up", even though Oikawa could have sworn his eyes were closed and the glass door between the shower and the rest of the bathroom dampened most of the fabric rustling. Seemingly unimpressed by Iwa's demonstration of sixth sense, Mattsun obliging dumped the clothes in the laundry basket.

"I can't believe you guys started without us," Makki said, as he hopped into the shower.

Iwa let out a pleased hum while Oikawa scrubbed his back. "Don't let the steam out."

"Excuse me, but did you _smell_ Iwa?" Oikawa sniffed, "Maybe your olfactory receptors were killed off after having to endure close proximity for a prolonged period of time, but mine are in stellar condition, and they told me that he _absolutely_ needed a shower."

"Oikawa, a fractured ankle isn't going to stop me from kicking your ass," Iwa said, casually.

"But if you whoop my ass, who's going to blow you tonight?"

"I would," Makki offered, the traitorous scum.

Iwa leaned into Oikawa's hands, letting his head fall back to rest on Oikawa's shoulder and glancing up from beneath his lashes. "Looks like you've got yourself a contender."

"No fair! I called dibs on blowing Iwa!"

"Technically, you predicated your blowing of Iwaizumi on the condition that he didn't whoop your ass," Mattsun said, "You conditionally called dibs on blowing Iwaizumi. And he'll probably kick your ass anyway, so first dib privileges fall to Makki."

"Weren't you supposed to be mad at Makki? Why are you on his side!"

"We made up when he came down my throat," Makki told Oikawa with a wink.

"Oh my god, Makki, you slut," Oikawa said, faux scandalised, "Well, seeing that you got to suck off Mattsun. Clearly it's only fair that I get to blow Iwa. Isn't that right, Iwa?"

"No."

"Iwa, you bully!"

Oikawa eventually did get to blow Iwa, when they were all out of the shower, and sprawled across his large, _large_ orgy-sized bed, which was soft and lovely and completely stripped of its duvet and pillows because Oikawa and Makki had slept in the sitting room the night before. Well, considering how things going to get _messy_ , it'd save them the extra laundry. Oikawa kept a firm hand around Iwa's right calf, keeping it slightly elevated as Iwa lay flat on his back, so that he wouldn't accidentally bash his ankle against something or someone as he writhed and _writhed_ his pleasure. Iwa was truly _enchanting_ when he was about to come, with his figurative walls down and his not-so-figurative anal walls clenching desperately on Oikawa's fingers, as Oikawa took all of him into his mouth and _sucked_. He was also wonderfully _loud_.

"Oh my- _God_ ," Iwa was saying, almost crying, which did wonders for Oikawa's ego, "Fuck. Oikawa. Oh- Fuck. _Fuck_ me."

Makki was sitting by Iwa's head and petting his hair as he moaned, while Mattsun was leaning over the other side of the bed, rummaging through the drawers for some condoms, because 'safe sex is important, Oikawa. We just ran that campaign for the kids. And you're the King so _obviously_ , you have to lead by example'. Uh, he wasn't going to reveal any of their bedtime practices to the tabloids anytime soon, thank you very much. At least, not unless the monarchy royally fucked something up, so much that they'd need a distraction to take some of the heat.

Oikawa released Iwa's cock – for the barest of moments – to deliver an especially witty remark, but Iwa glared at him as if he declared a nationwide ban on agedashi tofu and _growled_. Oikawa grinned, licking Iwa's pretty leaking cock, all pink and shiny with spit, from base to tip. He kept his eyes on Iwa's face as Iwa squirmed, right leg struggling a little under Oikawa's steady hold.

"So eager, Iwa," Oikawa said, "The night's still young, you know."

"Oh, god. Fuck you."

"Yes, that's what you're doing right now."

Iwa snarled and would have said something if Oikawa hadn't pushed his fingers further along Iwa's very tight, very perky butt and pressed down on that lovely, _lovely_ spot, right where he knew Iwa liked best. So Iwa's possibly scathing retort died on his lips, and he gave the sweetest little whimper instead – after which he flushed bright red and looked like he wanted to _die_ , or alternatively, kick Oikawa in the face.

Oikawa tightened his fingers on Iwa's calf. "No kicking when your ankle's hurt."

Iwa blinked, his bitten red lips a surprised O, before he grudgingly said, "I wasn't going to kick you, dumbass."

And Oikawa was about to _tease_ , when Makki piped up, voice light with good humour, "C'mon, guys, I'm feeling a little left out here."

"Aw, see Iwa," Oikawa said, "We've left Makki _lonely_. Why don't you do something about that?"

Iwa arched a brow at Oikawa, but he obediently reached for Makki with an absolutely filthy look on his face, and then proceeded to lap at Makki's balls in slow, purposeful strokes, before making his way up to Makki's cock and sliding his tongue up its length, exactly how Oikawa had toyed with him earlier. Makki groaned as Iwa licked his precum off his slit. "God, Oikawa you're a _horrible_ influence."

"Shush, I'm obviously the very best influence," Oikawa said.

He happily settled between Iwa's legs, and was savouring how Iwa's hips trembled as he gave Iwa's pretty, _pretty_ cock all the attention it deserved, when Mattsun – seriously, where had he _been_ – abruptly announced, "I've got the condoms!" followed by, "Wait. Are you kidding me. I couldn't have been more than a minute."

Oikawa released Iwa's cock with a wet _pop_ and said, "It was a _long_ minute."

"Just about as long as Mattsun's cock," Makki said, grinning as Mattsun reached over to kiss him on the mouth.

"I hope you're not under the impression that my dick's all of an inch," Mattsun told him, while distributing the condom packets amongst them, like a safe-sex version of Santa Claus.

"Nah, it _feels_ like a nine," Makki said.

"I'm flattered."

"Don't be," Makki sniffed, giving him a flinty-eyed look, "Because I refuse to ride that monster again as long as my arm's still in this damned sling."

Iwa pulled his mouth away from Makki's now red and shiny package – the Christmas analogy was apparently going to be a _thing_. "Does that mean you're riding my cock tonight?"

"Why, yes, Iwaizumi, I'd love to ride your cock tonight," Makki replied with a saccharine sweetness that left all of them shivering and mentally girdling their loins.

"You just used your 'I'll ride you but then I'll have to castrate you' voice," Mattsun said.

Iwa groaned. "Okay, maybe you can ride Oikawa instead."

"Oi, that's my normal voice," Makki said, thankfully in his actual 'normal voice' this time, "And I want Iwaizumi's nice, big-but-not-nine-inch-big cock filling me up-" Iwa gave a nonplussed grunt at that, "-Besides I can't possibly ride the royal stud when he's so eager to mount our favourite director right here."

"I'm your only director," Iwa said, in weak protest.

There was some careful manoeuvring as Makki clambered over Iwa's body to position himself over Iwa's condom-sheathed cock, which was still happily standing to attention, even though Mattsun had said the C-word. Oikawa's had wilted a bit. Seriously, why would anyone talk about _castration_ during an enthusiastic bout of sex? Alright, fine, Iwa was still raring to go. His dick must be made of sterner stuff than Oikawa's.

"Is Your Majesty open to taking it up the ass tonight?" Mattsun asked, even though he damn well knew the answer.

Oikawa grinned and arched his back, giving his very _fine_ booty a light slap so it jiggled. "Have at it, sugar."

Then Mattsun was behind him, working his very long, lubed-up fingers into Oikawa – honestly, everything about Mattsun was _long_. Oikawa hissed in pleasure, enjoying the pretty picture Iwa and Makki made as Makki bounced in Iwa's lap, while mentally writing sonnets to Iwa's soft, inviting asshole, which was wet and slick and just fluttering so _adorably_ as he held Iwa's butt cheeks apart with both hands. Mattsun had taken over his job of keeping Iwa's ankle off the bed, so Oikawa now had both hands to play with Iwa's cute little pucker.

"Oikawa," Iwa said, breathlessly, "Hurry up, for god's sake."

"I don't think Iwaizumi's gonna last," Makki added, also rather breathlessly.

"Good things come to those who wait," Oikawa told them, admiring how the muscles in Iwa's calf tensed, just as Mattsun tightened his fingers.

"Put that dick inside me or you'll be sleeping on the couch tonight," Iwa said.

Oikawa ran the pad of his forefinger over Iwa's lovely pink asshole. "You're especially bossy when you're horny, Iwa."

"Oh fucking _god_!"

Mattsun hummed, still stretching Oikawa out – three fingers now. "I think. If you don't put it in anytime soon, they're gonna c-"

"Don't say the C-word!"

"Come?" Mattsun finished, with a too innocent smile.

"You were going to say the other C-word," Oikawa said, glancing over his shoulder so he could properly give Mattsun the stink eye.

Mattsun put on his best 'I don't know what is this C-word you're talking about' expression, which – to be fair – was a fairly convincing expression, only Oikawa knew Mattsun was secretly an unrepentant asshole, so it didn't work on him. Mattsun proved his point by brushing over Oikawa's prostate right then, with his eyes half-lidded and his lips stretched wide in a sinful, razor-sharp smile. _Fuck_. Oikawa didn't stand a chance.

"I think you're good," Mattsun said.

Oikawa groaned as pleasure shot up his spine. "I think you're secretly an asshole."

"Nah," Makki choked on a whimper, without turning to look at either of them, "He's an out-in-the-open asshole. And what's with the hold-up, guys? Suffering performance anxiety?"

With an eye roll that was wasted on Makki, Oikawa put his condom on and pressed the head of his leaking cock against Iwa's sweetly clenching asshole. Leaning forward to kiss Makki on his right shoulder, Oikawa met Iwa's desperately needy gaze and _grinned_ , just as Mattsun thrusted into him from behind – the momentum pushing him into Iwa's amazingly tight heat.

All three of them gasped. And Makki exclaimed, "Oh. Fucking _finally_."

Oikawa silently agreed – definitely _fucking_ finally – taking a moment to enjoy the sensation of being speared and the gooey, heart-melting feeling of Iwa's warmth snugly encasing him. He let Mattsun-of-the-nine-inch-monster-cock set the pace for them, which ended up being terribly _slow_ – although each deep thrust landed square on the wonderful, _wonderful_ spot that scrambled his thoughts and scratched some internal itch he hadn't known needed to be scratched.

Spread out in front of them, Iwa was making some deliciously wanton noises into his fist, of which he'd shoved against his mouth in an attempt to muffle himself – a travesty, as far as Oikawa was concerned. Apparently Makki thought the same, because he firmly tugged Iwa's hand away, so all of them could bask in the enticing 'Ah! Ah! Ah!'s that fell from Iwa's swollen red lips.

Makki came first. With a strangled cry, he spurted all over Iwa's sculpted abs. Mattsun quickly reached over Oikawa to wrap an arm round his body when he slumped, spent –  ensuring that Makki wouldn't incidentally put any weight on his left shoulder. For a scant few seconds, they were still, their breaths – harsh and heavy – mingling, and their heartbeats – Oikawa liked to think he wasn't just being _fanciful_ – thudding perfectly in time.

Then Iwa gave a desperate little whine, still hard and wanting, and Makki rolled over to the side to bask in his afterglow, a playful smirk already on his lips. Mattsun picked up the pace, ploughing in at an almost brutal speed. Oikawa could feel every inch of that nine-inch monster cock, as Mattsun hammered into him and he hammered into Iwa – Iwa, who had given up all semblance of dignity, and was just moaning and _moaning_ his pleasure.

They reached the peak together, Oikawa and Iwa, with Mattsun following soon after. The orgasm tore through Oikawa's body in mind-numbing, white-hot release, like a comet blazing through a sea of stars. When he had his feet on the ground again, he was lying atop of Iwa, Makki to their right and Mattsun to their left. And he didn't know why, but his eyes were wet with unshed tears – which was honestly quite _embarrassing_.

"I'm sorry," Oikawa whispered into Iwa's nape, "I'm sorry."

Iwa huffed and carded his fingers through Oikawa's hair, voice gruff. "It's okay, you idiot. Don't get snot all over me, fucking Christ."

Still recovering from the cosmic experience, Oikawa buried his face in the curve of Iwa's neck and _inhaled_. There was soap and sweat and sex, which should have been arousing, but instead comforted him because it meant Iwa was safe and very much _alive_. Feeling Iwa's pulse flutter underneath his cheek, he mustered a half-hearted pout. "But you already have Makki's fluids all over you anyway."

"Now you're just being disgusting on purpose," Iwa said.

"Oi, my fluids aren't disgusting, you assholes," Makki objected.

Mattsun chuckled on their other side, propping himself up on one elbow. "I dare you to lick Iwaizumi clean then."

Oikawa made a face, lifting his head. Iwa's fingers stilled in his hair, but Makki visibly brightened, eyes glinting as a kittenish pink tongue darted out to wet his lips. "What's in it for me?"

"Eh," Mattsun said, very thoughtfully, "Iwaizumi'll eat you out."

"Don't use me as your betting chip," Iwa snorted.

Makki laughed, before batting his lashes and saying in a voice that was half-teasing, but also half-serious, "Don't you want to rim me, Director?"

All of them shuddered in fear because he'd used That Voice again, after which Iwa said, completely straight-faced, "Yeah, I'll rim you."

Makki gave a victorious hoot, and Oikawa rolled off his Director of Security. "Challenge _accepted_."

♚♛♜♞♟♙♘♖♕♔

The days following Oikawa's very public, very explicit, and very _lengthy_ declaration of love were… well, awful, to be honest. Yup. It was bad. The press was having a field day. Parliament passed down a gag order on all Blue Tower staff, but really, what _more_ was there to say? Iwaizumi had been convinced he'd be fired. Somehow he wasn't. He _was_ holed up in Oikawa's apartment though, which only fuelled more rumours.

The extremist group that had been giving them grief for the past weeks was the very same that had Iwaizumi kidnapped. Several key members had been quietly trialled and convicted, warranting only a cursory article on page four of Seijo Times and zero coverage from the Herald (obviously). Of course, they hadn't gotten all of them, but what was left of the group had faded into the woodwork and hopefully, they wouldn't be pulling any stunts in the near future.

"Off with their heads," Oikawa had yelled, throwing popcorn at the monitor as they virtually spectated the court proceedings, within the comforts of Iwaizumi's – thankfully soundproof – office.

"We discontinued that practice decades ago," Iwaizumi told him dispassionately.

"Treason! Treason!" Oikawa shouted instead.

"It's not treason," Iwaizumi sighed, "We're trying them for assault and battery."

"It's high treason," Hanamaki corrected, "Causing physical harm to a royal consort counts as treason under Treachery Act 1872."

Iwaizumi gave him a look. "I'm not a royal consort."

"But you're probably one soon," Matsukawa grinned, pointing at the front page of the Herald.

Iwaizumi groaned as Oikawa shrieked, "No one gets to touch my Iwa!" at the screen, before pelting it with another handful of popcorn.

The press eventually stopped dogging their heels, only to find out that the consort wasn't actually at Irihata Manor. And… that went well. The PR team was absolutely going spare trying to come up with appropriate press statements. #bringseijosconsorthome and #notmyconsort were soon trending on Twitter and within twenty-four hours, they were flying the consort back from Karasuno. If Iwaizumi was being honest with himself, he was just the tiniest, tiniest bit envious.

Whatever the case, it led to all of them standing at the airport at six in the goddamned morning, attempting to look stoic and infallible in their coats while they secretly shivered under the onslaught of 20mph winds coming in from the sea – well, sans Oikawa, who had the luxury of wincing and complaining and saying ridiculous things like, "Can't you hug me, Iwa? Then we can share our body heat and maybe I won't _freeze to death_."

He ignored the royal moron.

It took another thirty minutes of secret shivering before the consort swept down the stairs from his commercial flight, regal and poised – his own lover-cum-bodyguard an overprotective shadow behind him. Sugawara Koushi, fifth-in-line to the Karasuno throne and second cousin to Crown Prince Kageyama Tobio, smiled beatifically at the flashing cameras and reporters who had gathered at the gates; and the typically world-weary school of sharks kind of collectively half-swooned and sighed in an utterly besotted way. It was absolutely nauseating, Iwaizumi thought. And Karasuno Crown Guard Sawamura Daichi must have agreed, because he frowned at all of them with an air of long-suffering exasperation, ushering the consort down with a carefully discreet hand at his back.

"Tooru, it's good to be back," Sugawara greeted, voice carrying down the few yards – loud enough for the paparazzi's audio equipment – all radiance and rainbows, "Have you boys missed me?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," Iwaizumi and Matsukawa replied in their sharp military voice, just as Oikawa exclaimed, "Miss you? Au contraire, Suga, you've missed absolutely _everything_!" and Iwaizumi wanted to throttle him, again, just a bit.

Sugawara arched a perfectly shaped brow – which hadn't been plucked or drawn, but was blessed by the gods or something – and bestowed their audiences with a terribly devastating grin. "Oh? You must fill me in."

Then the consort was right in front of them, and he immediately stepped into Oikawa's arms, stretching up to kiss his husband on the cheek. Iwaizumi's eyes narrowed as the camera shutters went wild. Oikawa and Sugawara had never been openly affectionate in public, not any more than what was required of them. They were friendly of course, because they were _friends_ , but never anything more.

They parted after a tad too long and Sugawara turned to Iwaizumi with a look of mild concern. "I'm glad to see you in good health, Director."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Iwaizumi said wryly, "I'm glad to be in good health."

Sugawara peered around him to the contingent of guards behind them, eyes scanning past the sea of carefully stoic faces before he settled on one and waved his victim over. "Hanamaki, what are you doing all the way at the back?"

"Your Majesty," Hanamaki stepped forward, brows raised in confusion. "Welcome home."

Sugawara reached for him and air-kissed both Hanamaki's cheeks to another blinding wave of camera flashes. Although, his "thank you for enduring the past couple of weeks" was murmured privately, and Iwaizumi barely caught it even though he was just three feet away. Hanamaki nodded solemnly, before he retreated to the rest of the guards.

"Now, Iwaizumi," Sugawara looped his arm around Iwaizumi's in an unprecedented flouting of their prior press-related agreements, steering Iwaizumi towards the royal sedan, "Oikawa tells me the past week has been especially hard on you."

Iwaizumi tried to inconspicuously death-glare some fear into Oikawa, but his annoying – and _beloved_ – King just offered him a bright, guiltless grin. He turned back to Sugawara with a put upon sigh and said, "It's been alright, Your Majesty."

They were nearing the car and the paparazzi were pushing up against the barriers, calling out questions. Sugawara smiled at them and raised a hand to wave, looking far more angelic than anyone had a right to. And Iwaizumi wrestled down the green-eyed monster that was apparently trying to make itself at home in his mind. He refused to be an asshole to Sugawara, not when the man had been nothing but lovely to all of them – and also, exceedingly tolerant of Oikawa's antics.

Iwaizumi held the door open for the consort, wondering if his thoughts showed on his face because Sugawara was looking at him with the same knowing smile that Oikawa sometimes wore, whenever he was being particularly perceptive. Sugawara patted Iwaizumi's cheek with a soft, gentle hand, before saying apologetically, while facing away from the cameras, "I'm afraid if you have any issues with this, you're going to have to take it up with your King."

And wasn't that mortifying? Iwaizumi swallowed, about to tell Sugawara that, no, he was perfectly _fine_ with their current arrangement, he wasn't going to ruin everything just because he was a little jealou- When Sugawara kissed him. Right on the mouth. With _tongue_. In front of the paparazzi. Iwaizumi's mind reeled.

He caught himself before he stumbled backwards, blinking – possibly in shock – as Sugawara tugged him into the backseat of the royal sedan, and Oikawa followed immediately after. The door shut behind them and Oikawa told Sawauchi with a too-pleased grin, "To the Blue Tower!"

"Yes, sir," Sawauchi said.

"What the fuck."

Sugawara laughed.

Oikawa turned to Iwaizumi, vibrating with puppyish excitement. "I know. Wasn't my plan _brilliant_?"

What. The. Fuck.

♚♛♜♞♟♙♘♖♕♔

'ROYAL FOURSOME?' made the headlines for the Aobajousai Herald the next day. The giant photograph underneath it starred Iwaizumi kissing Sugawara in the foreground, with Oikawa looking on indulgently by their side – ironically it also featured Hanamaki and Matsukawa smirking at the back. There was another photograph of Sugawara air-kissing Hanamaki's cheeks further down the page, smaller. The press went on to speculate about their sex life for the next two weeks, and Minister Mizoguchi soon reported to Iwaizumi that teenage girls were writing pornographic content based on them and posting it up online. And for all his lectures and empty threats, Iwaizumi wasn't exactly _mad_ at Oikawa.

He framed the Herald's article and put it up in his office.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments appreciated. Reblog, or come say hi to me at my rather empty [Tumblr](http://hati-skoll.tumblr.com/) of which I'm still trying to revive.


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